I gulped and hugged my mom one last time. I have never been a crier. I hate to cry. It shows vulnerability and, well, it shows your a bitch and a pussy. I ain't nobody's bitch.

"I love you baby." My mom says threw painful tears. Then she goes still and quiet. She's gone.

I don't let myself cry, still. I just hug her again and stand. The dark blue sky is fading into a pink as the sun rises. I'm surrounded my mental fire. I feel like no pain I've ever felt can compare to the pain I feel now.

But I suck it up.

Because someone, somewhere, has it worse than me.

That's what my mom always told me.

As I leave the abandoned building that holds my mom's family I do three things. I set a goal. I put my hair up. And I spit on the ground.

These are the things I'm known for. These are the things I do. I plan, I get rid of anything that's in my way, and I leave a mark.

My goal: To find my dad.

That's what me and my mom were trying to do. He left when I was born, he said he needed to get shit done and never showed up. How we know he's alive? He sent a motherfucking poster card every one of my birthdays and Christmases. For 15 years. I know my dad is probably some asshole and or jackass, but my mom wants me with him.

She constantly said to me that I'm just like my dad. I always return with an, "Oh yeah? Then why am I still with you?!" before storming off.

All of this, was before. Before the world covered itself in shit, wrapped itself in menacing, pink, wrapping paper with bunnies on it, and went to hell. Oh yeah, and just before she left, she blessed us with the undead.

Damn, I hate my life.

But my mom wanted me to find my dad. And she's gone now, and I still haven't found him. So I'm going to do every fucking thing I can to find this piece of dumpster shit my mom wants me to find.

Before I knew it I was walking along the road. The road that had nothing in front of, behind, or to the left or right of it except trees. I don't know how in the holy hell I got on this road. But I kept walking.

I walked for quiet a few hours, until the sun was directly above me, signaling it was noon. Signaling it was lunch.

I sat down and opened a can of backed beans. Right in the middle of the road. Oh how I'd love to have a car come down the road right now and see me. A 15 year old girl, covered in dirt and blood, strapped with throwing knives and a gun in her belt, chilling in the middle of the road eating a can of beans.

That would be absolutely hilarious.

Then I hear it. The sound of an engine. Is this just my ears deceiving me? Well, I'd rather be safe than sorry. I pick up my half eaten can of beans and step just into the woods. Right where I can see but not be seen.

Then this big old rust bucket stops. Breaks down right in front of me.

The people that exit don't look too shady. One especially is literal eye candy. He's about my age wearing a sheriff's hat. The next person I see is a guy with my same exact eyes. My same exact blue eyes. Our hair is also the same shade of light brown. Slung over his shoulder was a crossbow. Pretty nice one too.

I step out of the trees. With in seconds we all had guns on each other. I was outnumbered, by a lot. There were, in fact, 14 of them.

"What's your name, crossbow?" I ask. I try not to get my hopes up. The better word, actually, is down I suppose.

He hesitates, looking at the rest of his crew. "Daryl Dixon."

It is. It's my dad. I don't know if I should feel happy or sad. I mean, he just fell, right into my hands. Just like that!

"Cool," I say, sheathing my gun. The other's lowered theirs but kept them out. "You're my dad. Shelby's dead, by the way. My name's Jennifer."

He pauses. "Shelby's dead?"

This, for some reason that not even I can explain, makes me pissed. I feel like I'm burning with how angry I am. I get up into his face. "You motherfucker!" I shout, feeling like a pot that just boiled over. "You useless, trashy, stupid, idiotic, bastard!" I scream. The other's are as astounded as my father. "YEAH! MY FUCKING MOM IS DEAD! But guess what?! I'm still fucking here and you didn't even bother to meet me! MY ENTIRE LIFE! 15 years! You didn't even have enough balls to meet your daughter! You sent a motherfucking poster card god damnit! EVERY CHRISTMAS! EVERY BIRTHDAY! YOU COULDN'T MEET ME! YOU NEVER EVEN BOTHERED WITH ME!" I don't know where this all came from. Building up for 15 years I guess.

But despite the look in his eye, I continued. "Not my first steps! Not my first sentence - which was 'where was daddy?' by the way! Not my first day of school! Not the daddy daughter dance that all my friends went to! Not my first period! Not my first crush! Not my sweet sixteen! Not when I took my basketball team to states! You missed it! YOU MISSED IT ALL! AND I SHOW UP! AFTER 15 YEARS! AND YOU ASK ME IF MY MOMS DEAD?!"

Then it came out. Tears. They just. . . came out, unexpectedly.

No one knew what to do, so they just stood there, staring at me, crying in Daryl's face.

"You don't understand." I hear him mumble. With that, I throw a punch. I know how to throw a punch. Being me, of course I do. It lands square in Daryl's jaw. His head swings to the right, he puts it back in place slowly, his hand lifting to his rapidly swelling, bleeding lip.

I turn to leave. Knowing my mom would want me to. Suddenly the attractive boy my age stepping in front of me. Just before I entered the woods.

"My name's Carl. You should. . . . you should stay with us. Safety in numbers." He says softly.

I look over my shoulder, where Carl's group stares at me. Some faces with dislike, some with pain, but most with aw.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'm wanted here." I look at the ground and he tips my head up.

"Your Daryl's daughter. You can stay." Before I can say anything he adds in a whisper, "You're the one with balls if you punch him like that."

I chuckle. "My name's Jennifer. But you can call me Jenny."

"Alright." He says. The two of us turn back towards his crew.

"Jennifer, listen." Daryl says to me, "I never met you because of my brother. I knew that he would . . . damage you in more ways than one. This new world took him out. I never met you because he would have hurt you you're my daughter and-"

"No." I simply say, "I am not your daughter. You are not my father. Don't you ever say you love me. Because if you did, your son of a bitch brother wouldn't have gotten mixed up in this."

We stare at each other for a minute. Pure hurt in his eyes. "Um. . . . ." A man with the same eyes as Carl - must be his dad or something - interrupts. "We should . . . we should get on the road. Before it gets dark. Find a place to stay the night."

No one else says a word. My dad walks ahead whispering to Carl's father. Carl and I stay five steps behind.

"That's Abraham," He points to each person as he says their name, "Rosita, Sasha, Maggie, Glenn, my dad, Rick, Michonne, Eugene, Carol, Tara, Gabriel, Noah. That's my baby sister my dads got. Her name's Judith."

A/N - This was kinda stupid, now that I think about it, but I feel like it could be a legit thing. So, comment 'Jennifer' if you happen to like this.